


Rolling in the deep

by Nagiru



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (mostly about comfort though), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Joker is human as well, Light-Angst, Nightmares, Post-Interrogation Scene, hurt!Akira, light mention to depression, platonic Shutaba, platonic sleeping together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagiru/pseuds/Nagiru
Summary: The plan had worked, Akira was alive... but not everything was fine, and Akira was just as human as every single one of his friends, after all.Futaba was just glad she was there to hear him when he needed it most.





	Rolling in the deep

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. Another old fill I never got around to posting. This one is from this year, at least! (January but still this year)
> 
> Yet again, this was written for [Persona Kink meme](https://personakinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1598.html?thread=1175870#cmt1175870). Prompt of the time was to make the Thieves realize Akira isn't a superhuman needs support just like all of them. So I went along and made some slightly-insecure Akira to top it off, 'cuz I dig some inecure!Akira.
> 
> Again, if not made clear enough by now: post-interrogation; so, post-torture as well.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Persona 5 doesn't belong to me. Not even Akira, though I'd certainly like that. Or Mona! -- well, we can dream, I guess, while Atlus doesn't gift them to us...

Futaba didn’t always leave the bugs in Akira’s room on anymore, but, all things considered, she thought it might be useful, this time. Maybe their plan wasn’t as airtight as they thought… maybe Akechi would return to finish the job… maybe…

She shivered, and put the headphones on; she didn’t want to think about those options, but she wouldn’t risk anything, either. Sojiro had offered Akira a room in their home, but Akira had been stubborn, had said he could handle it, and had proceeded to trudge up the stairs to the attic, so Futaba had decided she could say sorry later, instead of asking for permission now, and reactivated every one of the bugs she had once placed at LeBlanc.

Then, she sat at her computers and waited. She refused to sleep; not tonight. Not when Akira could need her at any moment. Not when… not when her _brother_ had just come from the biggest gamble _ever_, and the risks weren’t over just yet.

She sat, put on the headphones, and listened, even as she opened up a game to play while waiting, just to be sure she wouldn’t nod off.

For the first couple hours, everything was fine. Futaba had finished the first game she’d opened up, and had started a second one, both of them stupid games that wouldn’t require all of her attention. She had eaten her way through a pack of chips, and drunk a whole bottle of soda, and was downright _sugar high_, by now, but she kept going. Kept listening, kept playing, kept waiting, and everything was _fine_, and she thought that _maybe_ they had done well. Maybe their plan had worked out, after all. Maybe… maybe Akira was _safe_.

Then, she was halfway through her second game, and she heard a suspicious noise.

She turned the volume up, game forgotten immediately, and the sound came again — a whimper and a gasp, and it _certainly_ wasn’t of pleasure.

(Futaba wouldn’t say she had listened on _purpose_, it had just… _happened_.)

She took a glance at the time, already pulling up the images of LeBlanc’s outer security camera.

_3:41 am_, the clock blinked at her, and she frowned, tapping quicker at the keys.

But, there was nothing there, when she managed it. The door was still locked, from what she could see, and everything was still dark, and everything was _normal_.

Which meant, whatever it was, had gotten inside some other way.

Cursing under her breath — another whimper and a dull thumping sound echoing in her ears —, Futaba tossed everything aside, scrambling for the door. She knew Sojiro kept a spare key for LeBlanc by the door, so _where was it_?

Her heart was racing so badly she could barely hear anything else but her heartbeats, even as the keys jingled and something crashed as she jumped to unlock the door to their home. She couldn’t hear her footsteps, or the sound of someone calling her out as she raced down the streets, breathing uneven and heart echoing deafeningly in her brain, and _please, please be safe, please, please, please…_

LeBlanc never seemed so far away before, Futaba thought dully as she finally caught sight of the glass doors of her father’s café.

She half stumbled, half crashed into the doors as she tried to stop and put the key into place, hands shaking badly as her mind kept running to all the worst possibilities ever. She couldn’t… she couldn’t lose Akira. She couldn’t lose him after just meeting him. She couldn’t lose him _now_, after just _saving him_! She _couldn’t_, she just…

She stumbled inside, leaving the door ajar as she raced across the first floor — all she could hear was her own breathing and her own heart beating, and her own footsteps, so loud in the silent place, and she begged for Akira to be well, _please, please, be well_.

As she took the stairs, three steps at a time, fighting valiantly not to stumble and fall and roll downstairs, she could hear that same whimper, once again, and breathed deeply in relief.

Akira was still alive. He was hurt, and in pain, and something was so deeply _wrong_, but he was _alive_.

If he was alive, they could still fix him.

As she neared the attic, she also heard Morgana’s soft voice, running constantly in the background, even if Futaba couldn’t understand it.

So… so, there wasn’t anyone here, after all.

Which meant…

She broke through the last steps, and looked at the direction of Akira’s bed — which meant that Akira was suffering on his own.

She breathed out once again, suddenly not nearly as relieved as she had been just moments ago.

Oh, _Akira_.

She didn’t notice she’d said that out loud until Morgana spun around, hissing with his fur standing at an end and his fangs bared in protection.

“Ah.” He calmed down, stepping closer to Akira once more as he caught sight of Futaba’s disheveled appearance. “Futaba. What are you doing here?”

She tried to offer him a smile, but even she could feel it was more of a grimace than anything else. “I thought it’d be best if someone kept an ear out for Akira, after today.”

Morgana bristled momentarily, possibly insulted that she hadn’t thought _he_ capable of it — but settled down as he looked down at Akira, trembling and whimpering and completely, overwhelmingly _scared_ in the bed.

“Could you…?” he murmured, brokenly.

He didn’t finish the request, but Futaba didn’t need him to. She’d reached them, by now, and dropped to her knees softly, so she wouldn’t be looming over Akira as he woke up.

“Akira,” she called, quiet but firm. “Akira, wake up. _Akira_. Akira, _wake up_, Akira. We’re here, it’s just a dream, wake up. Wake up.”

She reached out, slowly, but Morgana batted away at her hand, shaking his head, so she kept calling out to him, and Morgana kept a running commentary of soft, sweet-nothings at the background.

It was heartbreaking to watch, but, at last, Akira settled down, whimpers dying out and shivers calming, and hands closing to fists instead of clawing at anything and everything — and then, his breathing pattern started to change, from quiet sobs to ragged but deep intakes, and his eyelids trembled and opened up, inch by inch.

“F-Futaba…?” Akira called hoarsely, still slow from his uneasy sleep.

“Yeah. Hey, bro,” she murmured softly, raising a hand to his head slowly, telegraphing her movements. “I’m here, you’re okay. I’m here with you.”

She touched one of his curls at the end, before moving her finger upwards and caressing at his scalp, light and tentative, unsure if he was okay with physical touch just yet. When he leaned minutely into it, however, she pressed her hand flat to his scalp, twining her fingers through his curls and petting him slowly, sweetly, offering him the same comfort he’d once offered her.

His eyes fell closed again, breath still ragged, and she could still feel him trembling lightly under her touch, but he seemed more aware of reality, at least.

“You want to talk about it…?” she offered, leaning forwards so she was in a better position to reach his hair, and also to leave space for Morgana to curl up between Akira’s shoulder and neck, purring loud enough for Futaba to hear him.

Akira’s breath caught sharply — eyes opening up to stare at her, and she felt like she’d been punched in the gut at the sight of fear in them. Akira… Akira looked so _broken_, with the bruises blossoming purple against his skin, and the deep bags under his eyes, and the _fear_ that stared back at her. He looked so…

He looked so _human_. So unlike his Joker persona, who was full of confident smirks and capable hands and an aura of _otherworldness_.

At this moment, Akira looked human, like all of them.

Akira looked _broken_, like all of them.

Futaba didn’t like it. Didn’t like seeing him in such pain, so afraid, so _alone_. Futaba didn’t like seeing Akira… _giving up_.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered fiercely. “But you _must_ remember that, if you want — if you ever need company, if you ever need someone to listen to you, if you ever need _anything_, I am here. _We_ are here. Every single one of us.”

She wanted… she wanted to make him smile, again. Not the cocky smirk of Joker, no…

Just… just a smile.

She wanted to make him _okay_, because Akira was clearly _not_ okay.

But she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t…

(_nights spent fearing sleep. Days where everything felt like her fault. Voices that whispered from the invisible, and blamed her, and told her the way out. Fear, and cold, and loneliness, and so much **pain**… and the warmth of human beings, and of thick blankets. The familiar taste of curry heavy on her tongue. The familiar scent of **family** enveloping her. Feeling dead, but struggling on. Giving up, but being unable to **give in**. Being so deeply **afraid**, but finding reasons to keep going_)

She took her hand off his hair.

“Move,” she ordered, pushing lightly against his shoulder.

He blinked slowly, lethargic. “What…?”

She repeated, moving him to the side by force. When there was enough space in the bed, she took Morgana in her arms, ignoring his protests, and climbed up onto the mattress.

“I’m sleeping here with you,” she announced, putting Morgana down between them, where he flailed and hissed and grumbled angrily, before finding a comfortable position against Akira’s chest and curling up once again, already purring. “So, bear with me.”

She couldn’t see it too well, since her position in the bed made new shadows hide him in the dark, but she thought that Akira was blushing, from the way he stammered. “Y… You don’t need to, Futaba! You can go back to your room!”

She put a hand back on his hair, and curled closer to him. “Do you want me to? If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. Just say the word. But… but I’ve been here, and Sojiro helped me, and I’m gonna help you, if you let me.”

Akira fell silent. The silence dragged on for so long that Futaba, caressing him as she was, half thought he’d fallen asleep under her ministrations — or, at least, feared that _she_ would fall asleep, and then it would be a moot point.

“I… I don’t…” Akira murmured, uncertain. “I don’t _need_ to…”

She pulled at one of his curls, lightly so not to hurt him. “I’m not asking if you _need_ me. I’m asking if you _want_ me.”

This time, she waited, knowing he _would_ answer.

“I…” he started. She felt him move under her hand, creeping closer. Then, she felt an arm fall over her waist. “Yes. Yes, I’d… I’d like that.”

She smiled, reaching up to take off her glasses, tossing them to the ground by the bed. “So, that’s it. I’m staying here with you. And if you have another nightmare, you can just wake me, and I’ll remind you that _you’re not there anymore_. That you’re alive. That we are _all _alive.” She breathed out, and let her hand slide down to curl protectively around his nape. “That we’re _here_. With you. _For_ you.” She felt his breath stutter, and heard a small sob. “Okay?”

The voice that answered her was wet and broken, but in a way that she could work with, at least. “Okay.”

“Good.” She murmured, with finality. “Now, sleep. In the morning, we’re feeding you curry, and we’ll call everyone and just _relax_. Watch a movie. I don’t know. Just… _be here_ for you. Okay?”

She closed her eyes, burrowing deeper into Akira’s warm and trembling form, and holding him close to her as he breathed out, slowly and tentative — “Okay.”

(She kept her promise. They woke to already cooked curry, Sojiro offering them warm mugs of sweet drinks, and it was _good _— and it just got better as Futaba called every single one of the Thieves over, and they all piled around Akira and made sure he was okay.

Or, well. That he would _be _okay. Someday.)


End file.
